Evening ti.
The sunset’s afterglow passed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, tinting the light blue sports floor with an orange-red hue.
In the living room resembling a private boxing training room, the punching bag, cold horizontal bar, and massive black sandbag cast elongated shadows.
Fang Cheng put down the mop in his hand and sighed with relief.
Looking around, the entire house was cleaned to a sparkling state.
The floor was so polished it resembled a mirror, almost reflecting an image.
The furniture was wiped clean and shiny, arranged neatly.
Only the kitchen trash can was stuffed full.
On top were a few well-cleaned chicken bones, underneath was a thick pile of pizza box wrappers.
At the door, there were also four neatly stacked large black plastic bags.
After returning from the morning exercise by the sea, he only made a trip to the supermarket at noon to restock supplies.
Fang Cheng hadn’t set foot outside the house for the entire day, nor did he plan to go to the club to work.
He just stayed ho, watched TV, ordered takeout, did chores, and virtually had no interaction with anyone.
It was a complete indulgence, taking on the lifestyle of a typical couch potato.
By the end of the day, the food he consud amounted to over twenty pounds, more than replenishing the energy consud by high-intensity training.
As for the unwelco visitor knocking on the door in the morning, he didn’t appear again afterward.
With no interruptions, he gladly had peace of mind.
Wringing dry the mop, he carefully hung it back in the utility room, Fang Cheng stretched his limbs, and his shoulder blades made a series of crisp cracks.
As he looked up, a ssage quietly appeared before him:
[Cleaning Experience 3]
[Cleaning Level 1 (227/250)]
Fang Cheng smiled slightly, satisfied.
Then he touched his slightly bulging belly.
An hour ago, the sumptuous "afternoon tea" had yet to be fully digested, so he felt no hunger at the mont.
Dinner could certainly be skipped; he’d just order so takeout as a midnight snack around ten o’clock.
Casually walking over to the sofa, Fang Cheng picked up the remote and turned on the large TV leaning against the wall.
On the screen, a music show was playing, with several well-made-up young n and won singing and dancing on stage.
Fang Cheng watched for a mont but quickly lost interest, putting down the remote.
His gaze casually turned to the window, yet was drawn in by the scene outside.
At this mont, the sunset slowly sank into the sea, burning the clouds at the horizon crimson.
The magnificent afterglow of dusk stretched from the skyline to the horizon of the sea, interplaying with the shimring wavelets.
It was like the scene depicted in ancient poetry: "Sunset lts gold, evening clouds unite."
The sea sparkled with countless fragnted lights, waves rolled from afar, knocking against the windowpane, also stirring Fang Cheng’s thoughts.
He suddenly recalled that peculiar feeling of being watched by the deep sea while swimming at dawn today.
It seed that at this mont, there was still an echo in his mind from a grand consciousness, lingering.
His thoughts stirred slightly, and Fang Cheng imdiately stood up, walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows, and opened a small window for ventilation.
The salty sea breeze imdiately surged in, brushing against his cheeks.
The last afterglow of the sunset gently enveloped him, casting his shadow long behind.
In his ears was the ceaseless sound of the waves, at his nose the fresh sea breeze, before him a grandiose molten gold sunset.
Fang Cheng closed his eyes, taking a deep breath.
He felt his entire spirit revived, indescribably comfortable.
Typically, before bed, he’d engage in one to two hours of ditation practice.
But now, witnessing such beauty, a strong impulse for spiritual practice arose spontaneously.
As for ditation, its true essence lies not in solitary contemplation, but in establishing connections with the universe, exchanging energy and information.
Spiritual power does not arise from nothing, its source is this vast universe.
Ancient cultivators practiced "gathering the spirit of the sun at dawn, the lunar essence at dusk."
The particularly critical point being at dusk.
For it is the mont when Yin and Yang alternate, heaven and earth converge.
Practicing at such a ti allows resonance with the universe to reach its peak, far more efficient than usual.
With this thought, Fang Cheng no longer hesitated.
He imdiately focused his mind, and right there on the floor bathed in sunset, he slowly sat cross-legged.
Hands naturally placed on his knees, back straightened.
As his eyelids closed, the noise from the TV and distant commotion, all external disturbances receded like a tide.
In Fang Cheng’s world, only his breath remained, with the waves seemingly in sync with his heartbeat, eternally unceasing.
His consciousness sank increasingly deeper, soon imrsing into that familiar sea of awareness.
A solitary lighthouse stood tall amidst the darkness.
The Spiritual Fire atop the tower beat steadily like a heart, radiating a red-golden light, illuminating the surroundings.
However, today’s flas seed sowhat different.
Fang Cheng saw, in the exterior flas of the burning Spiritual Fire, a faint, barely noticeable azure glow—like a water droplet.
Like a drop of cold water perating boiling oil, though trivial, it carried an incompatible quality.
"It’s this."
Fang Cheng’s gaze sharpened, suddenly becoming piercing.
The anomaly felt in the sea during morning exercise was most likely originated from this thing.
Without a mont’s hesitation, Fang Cheng imdiately mobilized his will, attempting to refine this unsolicited "blue water droplet."
Almost the instant his thoughts moved, the "tide sound" in the consciousness world intensified abruptly.
The sound was no longer re waves crashing ashore.
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